


What To Expect (And What Not To)

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: And also Panic Attacks, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Marianne has Insecurities, Meeting the Parents, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne Dale has moved to be with her boyfriend, the king of Biróg, and he's finally taking her to meet his mother. </p><p>A sequel/continuation to It Takes Two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What To Expect (And What Not To)

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was a bit angsiter than expected but Marianne does what she wants and what she wanted to do was FREAK OUT. So.

Spring was nearing its end, summer just on its heels, and fireflies glittered and sparkled like strings of flickering lights, strung between trees and ferns, flowering plants and hanging moss.

And there were many of those - many trees and moss and overall flora. Biròg felt like one giant forest to Marianne, ancient trees butted up against highways and county roads alike, making it impossible for her to see a city until she was already in it. There weren’t a lot of those, cities; the capitol was the largest by far and the next below it were what she would have quantified as townships if anything at all. Then again, she hadn’t seen many of them, just what she had passed by after getting to the airport, which was quite a bit outside of the capitol itself. 

It was her fourth night since she had moved to Biròg, and her lover had finally gotten the time to take her on a proper tour.

“I keep tellin you, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Marianne glared at her companion as they walked. “And I keep telling you, your majesty, that that changes nothing. I am nervous by default. It is my natural state. In fact, you should be worried if I’m not nervous.”

But for all that her scowl was perfectly executed, King Ciaran, or Bog, caught the smile in her voice and shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifting a small smirk. “Dully noted, Tough Girl. The point remains.” 

She deflated a little, and tried not to pick at her tweed jacket - it was that fidget that had alerted him to her agitated state to begin with, and she didn’t want him fussing. 

Four days she had spent exploring the city, setting up her tiny studio apartment while she searched for gainful employment she knew she didn’t need. But that was a thing for her; she needed to do something, be it work or hobby, at any given time. If it also could keep her mind off the fact that she was in a new country, in a relationship with their fucking king, and that, if things went well, she might one day be their _queen_ … well that was a nice bonus.

It wasn’t that Marianne wasn’t happy that she was closer to the man she loved. That their interactions were no longer limited to phone calls and skype conversations - they’d only gotten to see each other in person at Christmas, over five months ago. It wasn’t like there was anything in America that she was leaving behind… 

And maybe that had something to do with it. The ease in which she picked up her life and moved it to a new country unnerved her, an unpleasant reminder that since her mother’s death, Marianne hadn’t truly found a place she could call her home.

Was that place here? Could she be the queen of a place she didn’t know?

She was fretting again, and shook herself. “I know. But I can’t help it? I’m still new to this whole meeting royalty thing as it is, and on top of that meeting the mother of my- er-”

“Boyfriend?” Bog suggested wryly, knowing from previous conversations that she wasn’t fond of the word, especially for their situation.

She did make a face but moved on, skipping the word entirely. “-is something I’ve never done, period.”

“Really?” He asked, eyebrows raised. “Not even… before?”

Marianne shrugged. “Roland’s family situation was what could be best described as ‘fucked up’. I don’t think it ever occurred to him.” She knew in hindsight that it was in part because of Roland’s intention of marrying into royalty - he probably expected he’d leave them behind without a word - but Roland’s way with backhanded compliments and emotional gaslighting had left Marianne with the impression that _she_ wasn’t good enough for _them_ , and not the other way around.

And feelings like that stuck around, like a cold sore that might go away for months only to flare up when it was least wanted.

Bog’s hand found hers, squeezing it warmly. “Mari, she’s gonna love you.”

She met his eyes again, her heart clenching at how incredibly blue they were under the soft street lights. She had thought he would drive her to the castle, or they would be driven by limousine, but Bog had shown up at her apartment, and they were walking. Apparently their king, out and about, was common enough that Birog’s subjects didn’t mind. And with a night like this, she wasn’t going to complain.

She would never get used to those blue eyes, or how he looked at her. No one had ever looked at her like Bog did, let alone a king. Marianne was so used to being wanted for what her position was, so used to not being enough as she was, so used to not _knowing_ who she was, and with Bog… well, maybe she was still figuring out who she was, but he made her feel like that was okay. That whoever she came out to be he would love. And just looking at him look at her like that… she could feel all her worries dissolve as though they never existed.

Marianne wasn’t sure she would ever be used to that.

She gave him a wobbly smile. “Really?”

He laughed. “Think of it this way, Tough Girl, yer savin her son from ‘dying sad and alone’. You’re an angel for that alone in her book.”

Marianne shook her head laughing. Dawn had told her as much when they had been playing each other; the Queen Mother, Griselda, wanted nothing more than to see her son hitched, and the Crown Princess of Polyanthus was looking to be his best bet.

Of course, Bog wound up with the Ex-Crown Princess of Polyanthus - but he seemed more than sure that wouldn’t matter to his mother.

“In fact,” Bog went on, nudging her shoulder with his arm, their hands still entwined. “I ought to be worried about _you_ likin’ _her_.”

She nudged him back. “Oh please.”

“No, I’m serious. She’s a nagging old woman who doesn’t know what questions are considered socially acceptable and God only knows what she’s goin to say to ye - I can only apologize in advance for it.”

Marianne snorted. “Well, she does like Elvis,” she drawled. Bog rolled his eyes with a dramatic huff. “But you love her, don’t tell me you don’t.”

He sighed. “I do,” he conceded. 

“And she loves you,” she added, then smiled. “I guess we already have that in common.”

Bog paused their walk. For a capitol city, this area was quiet at night - most of the nightlife apparently existed on the other end of town - and for a moment there was nothing but evening air and soft lamplight. He searched her face a moment before stooping and kissing her softly and swiftly on the mouth. 

He was so amazed that she loved him, Marianne had to remind herself of this sometimes because that in turn amazed her. But Bog, like her, knew about previous heartbreak, knew about being wanted for a status and not for a self. This was new to them both, and they’d struggle through it together.

He smiled down at her when he straightened once more. “Ready?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

* * *

Biròg’s castle was large and old. And not particularly well lit. The palace in Polyanthus was like a beacon in the capitol city, lit up every night like a national monument. This castle seemed to be lit only the amount necessary so that one didn’t accidentally drive into it. 

Marianne hadn’t really had a chance to see it yet, and was given time to look over the old stone building. It was built into the side of a hill that capped the northern end of Biròg’s capitol, too tree-covered to really see the city below, or for the city to see it from where it sat. Marianne was sure, if she looked hard enough, she might see one of the spires from her apartment window. The thought made her smile. 

Apart from that, the castle looked like everything out of an ancient fairytale, the way Polyanthus had looked like everything out of a British Period Drama. Polyanthus’ palace, though, had looked like it belonged in the modern world. Marianne felt like she would enter this castle and find dungeons and tapestries and maybe a Round Table - not a real, functioning government. 

Bog was watching her, she could feel it. He cleared his throat. “It’s… a lot to take in. Ah mean-”

Marianne looked at hime side-long, catching how he stood too straight.  _Who’s nervous now_ , she thought wryly. It made as much sense as her own nerves; this was his _home_ and hopefully it would be hers. He wanted to make a good impression on her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said truthfully.

He flushed, stammering a little and she almost laughed. “Ah- I’m glad- that ye like it. Come on,” he added, gesturing her towards the large ornamental entrance, waving off security guards as he went. One of them spoke into a headset, likely alerting the staff that the king had returned. At least this felt modern.

“Am I going to be having tea with the Queen?” Marianne teased, slipping her hand in his again.

Bog laughed, a bit of his own tension easing at the comforting weight of her hand. “Coffee, probably - unless my mother breaks out the spirits.” He considered this with a dramatic wince. “Biròg is -er- proud of it’s distilleries, shall we say. How well do you hold yer alcohol?”

Marianne snorted. “Well enough.”

“Then that’s better than my mother,” he said dryly. 

She tried to focus on a witty response, but the interior of his castle kept distracting her. The interior was better illuminated than the exterior, and actually looked like people - and not ancient kings of lore - lived there. The color scheme of the large entry room and grand staircase were earthy toned, deep rusty browns and accents of a rich turquoise. The ceilings were tall, wooden rafters, with - electric - chandeliers, and there was considerable less artwork of previous rulers covering the walls than there had been in Polyanthus, for all that Biròg was the older country. She didn’t miss that; this decor looked more natural, more lived-in.

In fact, in an odd way, Marianne was reminded of the lodges she knew from when she and her mother went skiing every winter break when she’d been in school. The thought made Marianne’s heart clench with the kind of warm nostalgia that came with things that reminded her of her late mother, of having a home.

Bog squeezed her hand. “Are you okay?”

She looked up at him, finding that he had been searching her expression. “It’s all- it looks incredible.”

He shifted. “Ah- thank you. That’s- that’s not what I asked, though.”

Marianne laughed a little. “I’m fine, Bog, I promise.” Deciding to give him a little bit more she added, “It just… feels like a home.”

“It is a home,” he said.

“You know what I mean,” she said. “Polyanthus… it didn’t feel like this does. I didn’t feel comfortable. Even at Christmas when I was there as myself.”

“Ah,” Bog nodded, and she could see him fighting with a giddy smile, hearing his lover call any part of Biróg ‘home’. “I’m- that’s- that’s good.”

She laughed. “Yes, it is. Come on, we’re keeping your mom waiting.”

He nodded, taking her down a handful of corridors, before coming across a large door that had no defining features outside of any others. A small plaque said ‘Drawing Room’, but that was all.

He knocked on the door even as he opened it. “Mother, we’re back-”

And Marianne was practically bowled over as a short, stout woman wrench the door fully open. “There you are! I was thinkin of sending the service out looking for you! Now,” she interrupted before Bog could say anything in his defense. “I know you wanted to take your lady for the scenic route, but you could have given me a text - honestly.”

Marianne blinked a few times. “I- um- Your Highness-”

“Ah, call me Griselda, little lady, and don’t you apologize for my son’s behavior none.” She grinned a toothy grin, first at Marianne and then at her son. “He knows I’ve always got somethin’ to nag him about. It’s good for him, I say, to have someone he needs to answer to.”

“Um, right,” Marianne said slowly. Griselda was a small woman, with grey hair that frizzed out under a couple of bejeweled pins. Her dress was brown and plain, but the fabric looked expensive and it fit her as any tailored outfit would. 

“Now let’s have a look at you,” she said, firmly placing her hands on Marianne’s shoulders. “I’ve seen you before, of course, with all the news you and my son made last fall, but it’s so hard to get a look at a person in those blurry old magazine photos.”

Marianne flushed and sent an imploring look at Bog. He held his hands up, color painting his high cheekbones all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Oblivious, Griselda continued talking. “You certainly don’t look very much like your sister, you know.”

“Mother,” Bog said, and he was ignored.

“Dawn certainly is a pretty thing, but you’re much more Bog’s type - I can see it now.”

“Mom, please.” Marianne was sure her face was as red as a tomato now. 

Thankfully, here, his mother chose to let it drop. “Come in, then. Hopefully the coffee is still hot,” she shot Bog a look. But that was a look Marianne recognized at last. Her mother used to give her that look when she was out late; it was fond exasperation, it was built on love. A bit of tension uncoiled.

“That’s a lovely dress, dear,” Griselda continued, taking a seat. Bog sat, too straight, clearly still sure that his mother would say something to offend her.

For his sake, she smiled. “Thank you. My sister gave it to me for my birthday.” The first birthday gift she got from her Polyanthus family. She’d cried for that alone. The dress was a faded teal with half-sleeves and a pleated skirt. It was all very royal looking but Marianne had to admit she looked good in it.

She accepted the coffee handed to her, and took a cautious sip. It was bitter but not unpleasant. 

“It’s good of Dawn to send you those things, with how much Bog’s going to be taking you out in the future,” Griselda continued.

Bog shook his head. “I don’t know about that.”

“Nonsense; everyone knows about her as it is, it would do her well to be seen with you at events. Let them know you’re serious.”

“Mom, she’s a person, not a trophy.”

The woman stiffened, but before she could say anything Marianne interrupted. “I think that that’s a very good idea. I’d like to see some of the public events Bog attends, if he’s all right with having me along.”

Bog looked at her for a moment, and she held his eyes, making sure he understood she meant it and wasn’t just trying to appease his mother. Finally he smiled. It was small, barely there, but it showed the message had been received. Marianne returned it.

“Of course he’s all right with it. My boy has just been fretting himself to a fever over what to do now that you’re here.”

“Mom-” Marianne smiled at the blush that had returned to her lover’s face. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one nervous.

“So, are you two talking about dates yet?”

Marianne blinked, her smile disappearing in her confusion. Beside her, Bog groaned. “Mother, please. She just got here, isn’t it a little early-”

Griselda waved her hand. “But you’ve been together for over six months, I would think it would have come up by now.”

Oh. _Marriage_. Marianne went still, for a second before reminding herself to keep breathing. She should have expected this. She was fine.

“Ah- Griselda, Bog and I are still- this is still pretty new, you know?”

Bog’s mother nodded, but it was a touch impatient. “Now, I understand you two need some time together, and you need to get accustomed to the country, but that’s no reason not to announce the engagement.”

Marianne choked. “The- the _engagement_?”

“Mother, we haven’t- we’re not engaged,” Bog said irritably. He rested a hand on Marianne’s arm and only then did she realize she was shaking. 

She knew, from both Dawn and Bog, that Griselda got this way where her son was concerned, and she knew that Griselda’s pushiness was purely out of love. This was different, this was different…

But it was so easy to remember the way Roland had taken her out to a busy restaurant and proposed to her… that apparently he had told the staff in advance, and everyone knew and waited on her answer. They’d been dating for years, he’d said, he was ready to make things official, wasn’t she?

And how could she have said anything other than yes?

Griselda was still talking over the ringing in her ears that things related to Roland always brought up. “You two are sure about each other, right?”

“Yes,” Bog said, clearly both uncomfortable by the conversation, and by Marianne’s reaction to it. “Mother, listen, Marianne wants to wait and I…”

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said after that. _Marianne_ wants to wait. 

Why was it about her, suddenly? She’d told him she wanted to wait to marry him, she told him that she wanted to take things slow, but he’d _agreed_. Did he want to marry her- was she disappointing him by saying she didn’t want to marry him, not until she was ready… 

_Roland, I don’t know about this-_

_Come on, sweetheart. What do I gotta do to show you I mean it?_

_It’s not that I don’t think you mean it-_

She stood up, setting her coffee down with hands that were most certainly shaking.

“Marianne?” Bog asked, his eyes wide with concern. 

She wanted to hit something. It had been so long, so long since she’d had a proper panic attack. Of course she would have one here, of all places. “I- I need some air. I’ll be- be right back.”

She barely registered her movement, hardly heard the door slam behind her, paid no attention to her surroundings. She could see the apartment she’d lived in after her mother’s death, a ring sitting on the kitchen island, and Roland’s oh-so earnest face.

_I thought you’d understand, this is how serious I am about us. Don’t you want this?_

_I- I do, Roland. I just want to be sure-_

_Marianne, darling, what’s not to be sure of? Don’t you think your mother would want to see you taken care of?_

_Well- I mean, yeah-_

_You love me, don’t you?_

“Marianne-”

She jumped startled by Bog’s voice intruding on her vivid memories. She was in a hallway, but how far from the sitting room they were, she had no idea.

“I’m fine! I’m fine- just, just give me a minute.”

“You’re not fine,” he said seriously. “What happened? I know she can come on strong but that wasn’t even her worst-"

“Well thank god I left when I did!” She snapped, before she could stop herself. Bog flinched and she could have kicked herself. He was trying to help, he had no idea what set her off. He wasn’t Roland. He was Bog. Just Bog.

When he spoke again his voice was still gentle. “I just meant that- you know how she is about wanting me to get married. I didn’t think that would shock you.”

Marianne bit her lip, trying to - begging herself to - think before she spoke, trying to stamp down her panic before it got the better of her tongue. “Well, you know, there’s hearing about it, and there’s listening to her pick colors, and guest lists, and fucking _dates_ , like-like she expects we’re gonna be married by the end of the week.”

“She’ll get over it, Marianne. I told her we’d wait-”

“Yeah and what was with that?” she said, her self-control slipping again with the memory of their conversation with Griselda. “’Marianne wants to wait’?”

Bog blinked. “You do want to wait.”

“ _We_ agreed to wait, Bog,” she said. “Both of us.”

“That’s what I said.”

“That is _not_ what you said. You said _I_ wanted to wait like- like I’m the reason we’re not getting married right this second!” 

“I’m not- Marianne, my mother is not goin’ to blame you for-”

“Do you?”

Bog ran a hand through his hair. “Do I _blame ye_? Mari, what is this about? Ye know I-”

“But you do want to marry me?”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” His confusion was bordering on irritation now, shown in the rougher quality of his voice. “Yes, I want to marry you. Is that even a question?”

For a second, Marianne remembered them sitting in a drawing room in Polyanthus, her playing Dawn, and Bog’s voice, flustered and frantic ‘ _I don’t want to marry you!_ ’. She almost wanted to return to that time now; they’d been on the same page where that was concerned.

Unaware of her thoughts he continued. “But that doesn’t mean we need to get married now. Not tomorrow- not-”

“Maybe not tomorrow,” she interrupted. “Maybe not this month but you do want to marry me, and you expect- you expect-”

She tried to get a hold of what she was saying and not saying, just as Bog flinched away from her again. “What, that you’ll want to marry me? Yes, I kind of expect that.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” She snapped.

“Then what _are_ ye sayin’?” Bog took her by the shoulders, looking ready to shake her if it would get her to start making sense. “Just tell me, straight out, what’s upsettin’ ye, ‘cause Ah’m obviously missin’ somethin’.”

Marianne felt tears well in her eyes, not because she was hurt but because she was frustrated. And angry - angry with herself for letting this get to her and upsetting Bog in the process, and angry at Bog for not fucking getting it.

“You expect that I’ll be ready to get married and Bog, I don’t know how long that’s going to take! It could be years- it could- I don’t know- I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready! You know, maybe I’ll never be ready to marry you!”

Bog pulled back a little, startled and hurt.

She shook her head quickly. “And it’s not you. It’s not. I love you, Bog. God, I love you but- but that’s just it. I can’t stand knowing that you’re waiting on me, Bog, when I’m not sure if I’ll ever get there. Knowing that I’m not- not enough.”

“Not _enough_? Marianne-”

“I know you don’t feel it now, but what about two years from now? Five years?And I’m still not- And- and you’re a king! You’re going to expect- people are going to expect- a queen! And- and heirs and-”

“And now Ah know ye’re takin my mother too seriously.”

The sudden dry humor in his tone surprised her out of her rant. She focused on him again to find a small, rueful smile on his lips. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. 

“Tough Girl, I could not care less whether or not yer queen, and whether or not we have heirs. This is the bloody twenty-first century, love. I can pass the throne to my cousin an’ no one will bat an eye.”

“But you want to-” She began, her voice wobbling slightly.

“I want you, Marianne Dale.” He broke out her full name. He only did that when he wanted to get something very clearly into her head. “Just you, in any capacity you are comfortable with.” He moved a hand to cup her face, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, catching a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m yours, however ye want me.”

“That’s not,” she sniffed. “That’s not fair to you.”

Bog shook his head, laughing that sort of surprised huff of a laugh he had. “The woman of my dreams dropped everything she had to move halfway across the world to be with me, because she loves me that much. Tell me how I’m losin’ here, Tough Girl, because I don’t see it.”

She laughed, the sound a little choked. “I’m sorry-”

This time Bog said nothing to interrupt, simply pulled her close and kissed her. Marianne felt a few more tears drop from her eyelashes, but ignored them, clutching him close and kissing him back. He dragged his fingers through her hair, his tongue gently coaxing her lips to part.

They parted, but didn’t release each other. “Ah’m sorry,” Bog said at last, his voice rough.

“It’s not your fault,” Marianne assured him. “I’m still working out my triggers - you couldn’t have known your mom’s nagging would set me off.”

“So much for a good first impression,” he said, rolling his eyes heavenward.

She snorted. “I should be the one saying that.”

“Ah still shouldn’t have gotten angry at you. Ah was just- worried. That’s not much of an excuse.”

“Hey, hey.” Now she touched his cheek. “It’s all right. I wasn’t making it easy on you.”

“I love you,” he said seriously.

She smiled. “I love you, too. Come on,” she added. “Let’s go repair my damage.”

“There’s not much to repair,” Bog said, taking her hand. “My mother’s used to being a bit… _much_ for people to handle, but this was a bit more than that. I think she understands that now.”

“Marriage is off the table?”

“Marriage is off the table,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, she’ll still drag us out for every formal press occasion she can, and she’ll probably nag me about talking you around, but not around you. And you should know by now, your comfort is more important than any of her pressure.”

Marianne looked down, biting her lip. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Come on, Tough Girl,” he said. “Coffee is still very much on the table - if you think you’re okay.”

“I’m good. Coffee is good.” She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him, once again willing him to believe her. Because he’d proven once again that he wasn’t Roland, not in the least. That he would always, _always_ respect her in a way she had never felt respected before. That, even though it might take her years to work out who she was, he would love her, for every step of that journey. 

And when he smiled back down at her, Marianne felt she could get used to that.

“Good.”


End file.
